Onus 08

He kissed me softly on the lips, no attempt at tongue, even though I expected him to try. "Well?"

I felt myself smiling reluctantly. "It felt ama... good."

"I think that your tongue would feel just as good. Better, even. I've had sex with humans before. I know what human tongues feel like."

That was a strange thought. Sam having sex with other men. I tried to imagine it but all I could imagine was the ordinary man, and I stopped trying. "I'll... try. I will. B-But!" I felt my face getting very hot. My words tried to dry up, but I forced them out. "N-not on... th'mouth."

"Not on the mouth." He murmured, obediently He wove his fingers in my hair, massaging my scalp. I closed my eyes, sighed quietly. Sam's fingertips were warm, and gentle. Part of me wanted to tense up. I knew consciously that he would never hurt me. I trusted him more than I could describe. But my body had a deeper kind of memory. A flesh-memory. Of the countless times I had been restrained and dragged and punished by my hair.

I nuzzled against the side of his face, brushing my lips against the corner of his mouth, rubbing my smooth cheek against his raspy one. My stomach felt nervous. It still didn't feel quite right to lick him. But the side of my neck was still tingling from his lips and tongue, and down here, by his jawline he couldn't see me. He wouldn't be able to see my tongue, or my face, or even my eyes as I tasted him for the first time.

I pressed my lips against the raspy skin under his jawline. I felt him swallow. I could feel his heartbeat throbbing. I could feel his chest going in and out against me as he cradled my head against the corner of his jaw.

I breathed a little sigh before extending the very tip of my tongue to his skin.

I meant to only touch him and dart my tongue away, but I didn't want to stop. He made a quiet noise, low in his throat as I curled my tongue into little circles. It was a tactile experience. I could taste his sweat, his arousal, his stubble. I could detect traces of soap and silk and some kind of lotion. My sense of taste seemed heightened. I could tell by taste that he had imbibed alcohol, but only a small amount. I could taste the anxiety in his pores. He was a man held together by force of will. I never knew how much stress he was under, truly under, until now.

I could feel myself relaxing. I could feel the reaction I had to tasting his weakness. It was soothing to know that Sam wasn't bulletproof. I couldn't begin to explain why.

I moved down, following his heartbeat. I used a lot more of my tongue. This time he groaned. He was exaggerating. He had to be. I couldn't be doing this to him with... With my tongue?

I moved my hand between us. Our skin felt very hot. I fumbled with his button, the zipper was easier.

I thought he would try to stop me, slow me down. He was so hard. His skin was hot and velvety, but the softness was only like silk over steel At my touch he made a harsh sound in the back of his throat. He moved his hips so my hand moved up and down his cock.

I wanted to feel every centimeter of his cock, I was fascinated by the shape. I was so distracted that I forgot how disgusting my tongue was and I nibbled and licked at his neck without thinking about it. On the third stroke, his hand on my scalp tightened, went still. I could feel his come on my hand. Hot and slick, coating my skin in a rapidly cooling glove as I stroked, feeling the way his taut skin throbbed and softened under my fingertips. His come tasted bitter on my fingertips.

I gently nipped the skin on the side of his neck and reluctantly leaned back, wriggling slightly to get comfortable, and tilting my eyes up to meet his. His face was flushed. His eyes wide with shock. "Shy... I'm... th-thank you, and... sorry. I didn't— "

He was fumbling to say the right thing. I interrupted him. "Needed to see. You weren't just... Pretending to like it." I felt my lip curling up in a smile. "You weren't."

"I told you that Onus tongues were sexy. That your tongue is sexy." I felt myself grinning. I motioned for him to go on with the hand that wasn't still in his pants. "I pushed you enough for one day. I want to make you feel good, Shiloh." He kissed me briefly. "If you're sure that it's okay? That you feel okay?"

I felt a prickle of annoyance. I smiled and—very gently—squeezed his slick cock. "You... can go as slow... as you need to."

He laughed out loud, "Maybe I deserved that one." I felt my breath catch in my throat when his free hand started to ease down my body. I tensed very briefly, but he knew where my sensory patches were. He cradled my head with his left hand, and with his right hand, he smoothed the baggy sweatshirt up my side. He didn't try to take it off.

I felt him run his fingers over my left side with touch so light it almost tickled. He was looking at the bruises on my ribs. He told me they had been fractured. I had no memory of how. I watched his good eye follow his trailing fingers. Felt his hand linger at my breastbone, at the cigarette burns.

I worried. He probably didn't think I noticed, but sometimes I saw the way he looked at me. When my hands were shaking worse than usual. When I had a very hard time finding the words. When I stumbled in my casts, or showed any pain...

I shouldn't have worried that he would stop. His touch was feather-light, but maddening. I was giggling, and squirming when he tweaked my nipples with the tip of his thumb.

"I've never been with someone so sensitive here." He murmured, lowering his head. I felt his breath for a moment before his hot mouth closed over my right nipple. I felt like I had to jump out of my own skin. I felt his rough tongue, and then suddenly it was slick. He was lapping the little bud with the rough tip and the slick underside of his tongue. "MmmmMMH!" I moaned, I felt myself leaning into it just so the maddening sensation would be dulled with pressure.

When he moved his mouth to the center of my chest, gently kissing the burns on my sternum, I could feel his hand on my inner thigh. I had been blind to the sensations on the rest of my body. He moved his warm palm up and down, inching it a little further with every stroke. His fingertips were dry and incredibly sensitive, stroking and teasing. I clasped his hand between my thighs, shivering and panting. It was too much. It felt... rich. Like eating until you were sick.

"P-Please." I whimpered. "Jus... Just..."

Apprehension clouded his eyes. I could feel his body tremble like a taut string. I shook my head. "Good! Feels good... But-"

The words were lost. I ground my teeth together with frustration.

He pulled his hand from between my legs. He went back to gently rubbing my lower back. Below the patches on my shoulders, behind the patches on my sides. I gently rocked my hips forward on each downstroke. It felt like a dance, to music only I could hear. I felt like I could still make out the heat of his hand on my inner thigh. His skin had left an indelible mark. Not a bruise, not ink, but a hand-shaped patch of pure white heat.

"Shy?" There was a softness to his voice. I dreaded it. I stopped rocking. The innate music was gone.

I opened my eyes and I felt like a butterfly pinned to a corkboard. A germ, trapped between two planes of glass on a microscope slide. It was amazing how his one good eye could freeze me. I wanted to kiss him, smother his words, close my eyes and writhe against him, anything to deflect this stare.

He was afraid. He opened his mouth and closed it again. He was rarely speechless. Where had this fear come from? It was awful. I tried to open my mouth. I wanted to tell him that everything was okay. I wanted to tell him that he didn't have to be so afraid that he was hurting me. I wanted to tell him that his touch was so incredible that I could only handle him a little at a time.

Instead the words dribbled away. I let out a little groan of frustration and reached over him, around him. I had to climb partially on top of him to reach for the yellow pad, still on the glass table. He leaned back, letting me through.

My writing was spiky with haste. I dotted my 'i's with enough force to break the top two sheets, and each 't' was crossed with an angry little slash.

You aren't hurting me! Stop looking at me like I'm a puppy you just kicked!! It felt reallyreallyreallyreally GOOD! Intense. I just needed to take a break.

I shoved the pad into his hand. As he read, the skin around his eyes softened. "Shiloh... I'm sorry." He kissed my chest. "I'm just... I want to be really careful. Shy. If I hurt you, or did something to you that you didn't want... I'd be no better than the man that held you prisoner. I don't..." His voice was breaking. The ache in my chest became sharp, painful. Like a needle. I brushed under his eyes with my fingertips, tasting the salt. "I don't think I could live with myself if I ever hurt you."

Looking into his eyes was hard, but I tilted up his chin to do just that. I kissed him, feeling the stubble around his lips. The roughness of it. "Never like... him." I whispered. "Couldn't... be."

"P-Promise me something, Shy?" His face was flushed. He had gone through so much emotion in such a short span.

"Y..." The word faded. I scrabbled for the pen and pad. Of Course

"If you want to stop, or slow down, tell me right away. Please."

I wished he could tell I was rolling my eyes. That's what I DID. YOU promise ME that if I tell you to stop, you won't immediately think you're a rapist.

I had to tell him something but I didn't want to write it. I pulled him close and nuzzled unto the side of his neck. I whispered. "You won't hurt me. I know that."

"Okay." He whispered. He still didn't believe it, but he was moving forward. That would have to be enough for now. I would have to make him believe it.

I felt a shiver run through my body when he slowly started to rub my back again. He had slid his hand under my clothes. His touch left trails of heat.

If he had gone slow before, he was positively glacial after our misunderstanding.

I had to reach down and untie the drawstring of my pants. He was going too slow. I squirmed out of my pants, but it was hard to get them all the way down. They were tangled around my knees, above the walking casts. My skin felt cold, suddenly exposed. I looked down to where he had been gently kissing and tonguing my chest. His cheeks were very flushed, but he was smiling again.

"W-Was that a hint?" He said wryly, sliding his warm hand down my lower back. On the first pass, he only caressed the side of my hip, stroking all the way down to my knee before coming back. He teased with his hands. Getting so close to where I wanted him to hold me, touch me.

He was almost falling off the couch, trying to get a good look at me. He raised himself up and gently moved me so I was flat on my back and he was straddling my lower body. My cock was neglected and aching. Now, I could look down and see it. The tip was bright swollen pink. I could see the slits at the edge of my glans where the dydoe piercings had once made me so miserable. The edges were smooth now, and the same color as the skin around them. The head was shiny with two dribbles of precome. One dribble went all the way down the smooth shaft, and the other had stopped at the edge of my glans, making a single clear pearl of moisture, perfectly suspended.

"You're healing nicely." Sam whispered. I watched his tongue dart out to wet his lips. He rubbed my thigh thoughtlessly while he looked. I moaned softly, and felt my hips rock almost of their own accord. I wanted him to touch me so bad. He had already touched my genitals more than once. Cleaned them when my piercing had torn out under its own weight. Again while I was unconscious during surgery. I wanted him to touch my hard cock. I wanted him to touch me when I was awake and unafraid, with no latex between us.

When he touched me, the pearl of precome swelled and landed on the first joint of his thumb. The noise I made was involuntary, like air leaking out of a tire. His eyes went back and forth rapidly. Constantly lighting on my face. I could feel his gaze like a weight. He moved his hand up and down, but not in a stroke. The movements of his fingers were diagnostic, gently pulling at the skin around my piercings, pushing my cock up against my stomach to better see the wounds. His fingertips were prodding and sensitive, and I felt a wave of heat flush through my entire body.

Masturbating never felt like this.

Sam lost his glacial slowness as he examined me. He was too engrossed. Not all of his touches were professional. After kneading the small wounds between my cock and balls, feeling for swelling or soreness, he moved his hand back up the shaft and rolled the ball of his thumb gently over the very tip of my cock, coating the head with silky moisture. He brought his hand to his mouth, the tip of his tongue went out to meet the tip of his thumb. Our eyes met as he did.

"It's good." He whispered. I saw his fingertips brush, and then linger on the scarred side of his face. A shadow crossed his eyes, and he started to reach for the floor, where the face-patch lay, forgotten.

"Leave it." I was surprised by how strong my voice came out. I wasn't the only one. Sam actually flinched. His free hand flew back to his face, covering the scar reflexively. "Please."

It was hard to concentrate when he was touching me like this. It was hard to look at him. Hard not to just melt in his hand. I looked at him while he couldn't seem to meet my gaze. "You... You don't have to look at m-... this." The fingers of his flattened hand arched slightly, I could see the arcs of his fingernails biting into the skin, the beds of his nails white from the pressure.

I wanted to slap him. I would have, if I thought it would drop the loathing out of his tone.

Instead, I sat up. His knuckles bumped up against the sensory patch on my stomach and I winced, but leaned forward regardless. I leaned forward and he shut his eyes just as my lips touched the scarred membrane over his left eye.

"G-Gonna put my eye out, keep surprising me like this." He murmured. I planted a dozen small kisses on the pitted skin of his cheek and temple. I could hear the smile in his voice.

"I wanna... Look at you." I whispered. "All... day. If I could." I wrapped one arm around the back of his neck, so I could hold myself up. Our foreheads were touching.

"Never thought I'd hear someone say that." He whispered. He nuzzled the side of my neck, drawing a whimper out of me. I felt him inhale, and let his breath out in a long sigh. "You... Are you sure about me? About this?"

"About us?" I whispered. He nodded. His brow was furrowed. He looked like a man in pain.

"Sam?" I whispered. I waited until he cast his uncertain eyes towards me. I wanted him to hear me. To really hear me.

"He... never let me choose." I saw his eyes widen slightly. "You think... I don't know the difference." I blinked, and felt a line of moisture run down my cheek. "But I do, and I choose yes."

"I ch-choose you!" Fuck. I didn't want to cry. I aggressively wiped my eyes on his shoulder. I felt his motionless hand begin to gently knead my cock. I had almost forgotten about that. I tucked my head into his shoulder and moaned.

"If that's h-how you feel... How you really feel?" I could feel his lips against my ear. His hot breath made my skin break into goosebumps. I nodded vigorously into his shirt, hunching my back, trying to give his hand a little more room. "Then I have another choice for you."

"Do you want my hand?" I shuddered when he nipped my earlobe. "Or my mouth?"

The air rushed out of my lungs as if I'd been painlessly punched in the stomach. I had been speaking so well, but my words were gone. Even if they weren't, I didn't think I had the air for them.

I still had to make my choice.

I ran the tip of my thumb over his upper lip. Over the twin points, and the raised ridge of the scar between them. I nibbled his lower lip between mine, not quite daring enough to touch his mouth with my tongue. Not yet. I managed a word.

"this." I breathed.

His hand was behind the back of my head, supporting my weight, setting me down, gently. I craned my neck to watch him. When he dipped his head, I was afraid. I was afraid that it would be too much. He was so hard to convince... and after everything I had said...

I watched him hesitate. I could feel his breath. I could see my chest rising and falling rapidly, but I still felt lightheaded. The air was filling my lungs, but my brain was starving for oxygen, or maybe glutted on it.

He kissed me, right on the line between my leg and abdomen. The shallow V that ran down to the base of my cock. His hand cradled my cock as his tongue swirled an electric comma-shape on my skin. The feeling was so intense, he must be able to feel it. It had to be trembling, like a tuning fork.

He tilted his head and briefly released me. I tracked his eyes. I watched him pinch his forefinger and thumb together, then pull them apart. He was watching the strand of moisture between them. I could see my excitement gleaming around the inside of his forefinger, the web of flesh between that and his thumb. His eyes went back to me, and he smiled. I felt a ragged little sound come out. A one-note laugh.

He pinned my cock to my stomach with his thumb right under my glans. Then I breathed in, harshly, unable to let go. I watched him draw his tongue over my length in a long dragging lick from the bottom of my cock to the glans. He looked up at me the entire time as I tensed, taut like a plucked cord.

Then I felt his mouth engulf me, and it was just too much. Some line had been crossed. I couldn't resist for one more second. My eyes closed and I felt the muscles in my neck go slack. My head fell back on the couch-cushion. Through my lids, I saw the pattern of branch-shadows on the ceiling. The sun had come out.

I felt my knees bending slightly, pressing the insides of my thighs against his shoulders, my toes trying to grip the inside of my boots. One hand groped blindly at the couch, like I was trying not to fall off. With the other I reached, and I found his face. The damaged side, I could tell by the texture. I could tell by the taste. I could feel his cheek, first flat, then hollow with suction. His lashes against the skin of my hand, like hummingbird wings.

"S'good!" I managed to whimper. I wanted to reassure him but how on earth could I think when he was doing this? I wove my other hand in his hair and very lightly pressed down. I could feel the muscles in my legs trembling like jelly.

I forced my eyes open. I was rushing towards the edge of a cliff. I wasn't going to keep my eyes closed, no matter how... much it all was. For a moment, I stared at the blurry shadows of the skeletal branches on the ceiling. Was he making me cross-eyed? I felt the corners of my mouth twitch up, but my laugh came out as more of a gasp.

I knew that I was making the sound, but the strained feminine cry sounded like it was coming from far away. Every muscle in my body suddenly relaxed, and I felt sweat break across my face and shoulders. I took three deep breaths.

I felt his mouth around my cock, gently gathering every drop of come. I felt his throat contract and he let my cock slide out of his mouth with a soft pop. I opened my eyes, saw the edges of the branches sharpen.

I looked down and saw him resting his head on my hip. He glanced up at me and saw me looking. He kissed the inside of my thigh, and kissed my wet cock.

"Please, hold me?" I whispered. I felt very cold all of a sudden. I had a sudden certainty, that he would stand up and walk away. Say he was too busy.